


Ear Worm

by OliviaRosen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s15e18 Despair - Castiel's Confession Scene, M/M, Songfic, Spoilers for Episode: s15e18 Despair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:53:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28842696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OliviaRosen/pseuds/OliviaRosen
Summary: A wee song fic, what could have been going through Dean's head at the end of "Despair" 15:18
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 3





	Ear Worm

**Author's Note:**

> Be gentle, its my first time! (That's what she said...)  
> I own nothing! (except my house, my car, a couple of dogs.... you get what I mean).

It’s strange how it stuck with him, that one song. It was far from being his type of music: too indie-pop and quirky. Where was the guitar riff he loved in his classic rock tunes? The big drums which raised goosebumps on his forearms? The overwhelming need to blast the tune out Baby’s windows? There was none of that.  
It was a quiet song, and quietly devastating. A tricky little number, whose chirpy opening notes belied the naked devotion of its lyrics, the unceasing and unquestionable love and partnership it told of. 

In a different life, this was the sort of love he would have wanted. Someone whose belief in the power of their love would not be shaken by Death itself. Sometimes he imagined himself in possession of a love like that, had he not ended up in this life. A lover who was also a best friend, a soulmate, a true partner. If he’d had enough whiskey, and allowed himself a little introspection, he could see where the possibility lay… But no. It was utterly inconceivable that he should allow that to have the tiniest hope. He mustn’t give it a moment’s thought, because to give it oxygen would allow it to grow, and once it was alive, there would be no stopping it. 

He was a creature of destruction, a blunt instrument forged in the fires of death and grief, designed to kill, to rage, to stand between a blissfully ignorant humanity and the forces of darkness. He wasn’t made to be loved. Even the thought that a being built of light and purity… No. He knew he had but imagined the closeness, the lingering looks, the way the smell of petrichor and those so very impossibly blue eyes made the lowest part of his stomach flip. He had been broken from the beginning, the four year old who carried his baby brother out of a burning house and into a life of violence, abandonment, and trauma. He was unlovable in that way and was almost done convincing himself he had come to terms with it. 

It was an earworm, that’s what it was. A poppy little ditty which burrowed into the deepest parts of him, and lay there dormant: waiting, watching, until its moment came. 

And come that moment did. Right there at the end of the world, with Death quite literally knocking on the door. Stripped bare of all his bluster and bravado, he stood as naked as a fully clothed man can be as the confession poured out. “Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love… I cared about the whole world because of you. You changed me… I love you”. The words cut through his pretence, through the very image he had of himself. For one brief moment, Dean saw himself through the eyes of someone who saw him down to his very bones, and nonetheless, found him lovable. 

The Empty is a strange beast. It is the presence of darkness, rather than the absence of light. Its fingers twirl and twine their way into our world, twisting goodness into nothingness, love into loneliness, and hope into despair. Perhaps these very human concepts are what make it impossible for mere humans to enter.  
As the black tendrils wove their way around the angel, as he watched those eyes liquid with tears of love and sorrow say their final goodbye, as his barbed wire heart attempted to make sense of what was happening right now, he heard it.

Frozen in shock and grief at what was unfolding in front of him, it took a few moments to become properly cognisant of it. The dull ache from being pushed to the floor, the overwhelming rawness of knowing that despite himself he was loved, the sting of a thousand missed opportunities, and the fear of watching a cosmic entity engulf his one chance at true partnership combined to drown the song out, initially. 

But still it persisted. As Castiel vanished into the blackness, followed by Death herself, the jaunty, almost twee opening bars felt wildly inappropriate as they made their presence known. 

His first reaction was confusion. Why this? Why now? But then the realisation hit. 

This had been that love. The love that all the poems and all the plays and all the songs are about. This is the love that drives people to bind themselves to another, to procreate, to defy family and gods and tradition to just exist in the same space. He finally got it. He finally understood why this one song, in this one moment. 

"Love of mine, someday you will die. But I'll be close behind; I'll follow you into the dark  
No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white. Just our hands clasped so tight, waiting for the hint of a spark  
If Heaven and Hell decide that they both are satisfied. Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs. If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks then I'll follow you into the dark"

The words inched their way into his fragile consciousness, chipping away at the assumptions he had held so dear for so long. Now he was the medium, playing the annoyingly persistent song on repeat until its final words escaped his lips.  
“Dammit Cas. I would have followed you”.


End file.
